I
wonder how strange it must feel for the former Prince of Wales to sign himself
“Charles R”.
Though
it’s only been a few days since the Queen’s passing, the adjustment to having a
King has been easier than I’d originally imagined, perhaps because yesterday
was about the proclamation and accession of the new monarch rather than about
Her late Majesty. The formal proceedings at St James’ Palace were fascinating
to watch. I never thought I’d say this, but bless Youtube as a repository for
such things. At the end of a busy day prepping for my return to work, Ter and I
were able to catch up on this piece of living history hours after it had
happened. Time zone issues, you know.
Maybe
it’s as much because she and I are career public servants as we are Royalists
that we observed with keen interest the reading, signing, and witnessing of the
accession proclamation by the King and Privy Council members. Draft
Orders-in-Council were approved regarding use of the existing royal seals
pending creation and authorization of new ones, one of a million changes to be
made when a king succeeds a queen. Even here in Canada, in BC, there are
protocols regarding the Queen’s portrait (drape it in black), the state of
legislation passed under the previous reign (they remain in effect), and the
shift of lawyers named from Queen’s Council to King’s Council (it’s automatic
and immediate).
Again,
His Majesty gave a fine speech, this time to the assembly. There is no doubt he
gets both the gravity of his new responsibilities and the weighty challenge of
following his mother’s stellar example. I still think he’ll do well enough in
his own right, in his own way.
I was
particularly touched – and amused – when the motorcade departing Buckingham
Palace at the end of the day yesterday suddenly stopped halfway along the Mall.
The Rolls carrying the King veered off at an angle and came to a full halt. The
back door opened and His newly proclaimed Majesty got out for a spontaneous
walkabout with spectators along the road. The scramble of media cameras to seek
and focus on him with the crowd was hilarious, as the car had stopped between
established view points and no one was prepared for it. Yet it confirmed for me
the suspicion that his private grief may be helped by sharing in the public’s, for
the Queen was a beloved figure in many people’s lives as well as within her own
family.
There’s
the surreal thing again. In absorbing the protocols around naming a new
sovereign, I am reminded that the sole reason for them is that Queen Elizabeth has
died. The reminder came this morning, when I awoke to the news that her coffin
had arrived at Holyrood House in Edinburgh, there to await tomorrow’s service
at St Giles ahead of transport to London and a lying in state at Westminster
until the funeral on the 19th. Charles is in a uniquely painful position,
taking on his mother’s job while simultaneously mourning her loss. Surely no
other member of his family can relate so acutely to the awful contradiction of
ascending monarch with mourning son. On all counts, I truly wish His Majesty
well.
God save the King.
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